


Another Scar

by KatieComma



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Jack's injured pretty bad on a mission.From Jack and Mac's POVs.





	Another Scar

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like all the fics I read like this are Mac getting hurt (which, don't get me wrong I LOVE because caring and emotional Jack is great) but I thought it would be fun to see it from the other side.
> 
> Also: this ended up way longer than I intended... but I really wanted to bring it all around to an end that felt like it tidied everything up.

Mac ran headlong through the labyrinthine tunnels, not taking the time to check around corners or listen for the stomp of combat boots. Jack’s pained yell over comms had got him racing, in addition to the fact that he’d finished prepping the distraction explosive and needed to get away from it as quickly as possible.

He rounded a corner and almost tripped over Jack, sprawled in a doorway. He’d been wounded, and blood was flowing out onto the floor. At least he’d had enough sense to cover and press down on his wound with his jacket, but he looked pale.

“Mac?” Jack choked out. “What’re you doin’? Get your ass outta here.”

Mac ignored him. “Matty, we need exfil to come to us.”

“Matty, cancel that,” Jack tried to sound chipper, but the pained groan in the middle of his words betrayed him. Ever the solider, Jack was always so ready to sacrifice himself, even when it wasn’t necessary.

“Bringing exfil to you Mac,” Matty confirmed over comms, ignoring Jack.

Mac crouched next to Jack. 

Jack didn’t get hurt, he wasn’t supposed to get hurt. The way he danced through peppered gunfire and dodged deadly weapons, he had always seemed invincible to Mac. Sure little scrapes and bruises, a broken nose here and there, maybe a bullet through and through in the shoulder, but never something like this.

He pulled Jack’s hands back just enough to see that the wound was up under the bottom edge of his tac vest, probably a knife wound. It was deep. Worrisome. And in a really bad place.

“Tripped onto some guy’s knife,” Jack tried to joke, but there was a desperation in his voice and his eyes.

Mac pressed the wadded up jacket back to the wound under the vest and pushed down hard. Jack closed his eyes and shouted expletives.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jack growled, once he had his breath back. “Get outta here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mac said. His brain began to run. What was he going to do? Jack was losing too much blood. And the building was completely empty, there were no supplies to work with. Just empty concrete hallways and enemies. Any supplies he’d had, he’d used to make that damn bomb.

A loud bang shook the ground. Speaking of that damn bomb.

Mac continued to press down on Jack’s wound and covered his partner’s body with his own as a puff of dust followed the explosion down the hallway.

It was just a small bomb, a distraction. Hopefully it would scatter the enemy.

“Mac,” Matty’s voice crackled through comms. “There was an explosion in the building. Are you guys ok?”

“I’m fine Matty, but Jack’s losing a lot of blood,” Mac replied, returning his attention to Jack’s wound now that the dust had settled. “We need that exfil now!” Mac could hear the desperation in his own voice and struggled to regain his calm.

“We’re trying Mac,” she replied, “but they’ve got an anti aircraft gun set up on the roof.”

“Hold on,” Riley said, “I think I can take care of that.” The sound of vigorous typing echoed through Mac’s earpiece. “Their anti aircraft gun is auto-targeted through a computer. I just got access.” More typing. “Their encryption sucks. You’re good now. It’s disabled.”

“Hurry,” Mac said, his voice betrayed his worry. Jack should be complaining a lot more. Or at the very least still encouraging Mac to leave, but his partner was disturbingly still. “Hey Jack. What were you saying?”

“Hmmm,” Jack’s eyes were closed, but at least he was still conscious.

“Jack?” Riley’s voice carried over comms. “Exfil is on the way. Hang in there old man.” There was worry in her voice too. Everyone knew what the absence of Jack’s constant commentary meant.

Still pressing the jacket hard against Jack’s torso, Mac turned his head away to muffle his voice, not thinking that they were all sharing comms anyway. “He’s not going to make it Matty. Hurry.” The last word was desperate and shaky.

Jack’s face was still, and Mac felt like his chest was collapsing and hollowing out. He’d never seen Jack so pale.

“Hey Jack!” He called out loudly.

No response.

“Damnit Matty! Now!” Mac yelled into comms. “Jack!” Mac called again, and felt Jack stir a little under his hands.

Boots sounded on concrete behind him, echoing down the hallway. Heavy boots. Mac didn’t care if it was the bad guys, he wasn’t leaving Jack. Without pressure on the wound he’d die for sure.

He needed to try to get Jack talking, but Mac had never been the conversation guy, unless he was making something and explaining the process. Jack was the one who talked.

Mac tried to steady his voice as the boots continued to beat out a rhythm through the building around them. “C’mon, what were we talking about?” They’d been having an argument while Mac was making his explosive, but he could barely remember that far back now.

Riley spoke up. “Yeah, who would win in a fight: Chewbacca or Bruce Willis?”

“It’s gotta be Chewie, right?” Mac added, trying to sound like he wasn’t panicking and falling apart.

“Naw,” Jack’s voice came out, and it sounded drunk as he turned his head to look up at Mac. “My man Bruce all the way.”

“No way Bruce Willis would beat a Wookie in a fight,” Mac said. “Chewie can pull people’s arms off.” Somehow arguing made things feel normal, and Mac relaxed a little.

The boots approached from behind, and Mac leaned over Jack, prepared to shield him from whatever was coming. Mac closed his eyes. Maybe this was the way it ended. But it would be right: The two of them going out together.

“MacGyver?” A hollow voice asked from behind. It didn’t sound hostile. “Angus MacGyver?”

Mac looked up to find a tacked-up team approaching their position. He recognized the lead operative: Garcia, and he let out a sigh of relief.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet, Jack had lost a lot of blood.

 

Jack lay on the secured stretcher in the hanger of the plane, an IV hooked up to his right arm. Mac sat at his left side, watching his partner’s calm, still face.

“He’s going to be out for a while,” Riley came up behind him. “They’ve got him on the good drugs.”

Mac nodded, but continued to watch Jack.

“You should take a break Mac,” Riley kneeled next to him, only kindness in her face. “Try to get some rest.”

Mac shook his head. “I’m staying right here until he wakes up,” he said.

Riley didn’t argue. She took one of Jack’s hands in her own and squeezed it tight before she leaned down and whispered in his ear.

Something crazy surged in Mac, and he wanted to tell her to back away, to let Jack be. Jack was his to protect and keep safe and watch over. But Mac swallowed down that urge. Riley was practically Jack’s daughter. She had just as much right to worry about him as Mac did. Eventually she let Jack’s hand go and went to find a place to rest.

It was strange, this worrying. Mac had never really had to do it before. Whenever anyone got in trouble or got hurt badly it was usually him. Mac started to wonder if this was how Jack felt whenever Mac was injured. How could he stand it? The waiting? The anxiousness? Being in the army, watching people die everyday, hadn’t made him feel this drained and empty. But that’s because Jack was different. Jack was more than another soldier, more than a brother in arms. He was family. He was everything.

 

Jack’s body hurt about the same as his third worst hangover of all time: margaritas and whiskey shots don’t make a great combo. He opened one eye and then the other, and saw only blurry white light. He closed his eyes again. The soft beeping of machines surrounded him and he could feel a pressure in his right arm. Great. In the hospital. What happened now?

The last thing he could remember was-

“No way Chewie takes out my man Bruce,” Jack blurted out. His throat was dry, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Did he just-” Riley’s voice.

“Continue the argument we were having in Romania?” Mac’s voice. “Yeah, he did.”

“‘Cause I’m right,” Jack continued. His muscles felt like lead, and there was a vague pain in his stomach. 

He opened his eyes again and this time the light seemed a little less bright. Eyes adjusted, he looked around to find Riley on his left and Mac on his right. Riley’s face was still creased with worry, her eyes wide, but a smile plumped her cheeks. Mac looked relieved, like he’d just released a sigh and let his shoulders relax.

“Don’t tell me you all were worried about ole Jack?” Jack asked, attempting to sit up in bed, but unable to make his arms do more than lightly press down on the bed and start to ache.

“Just for a minute,” Riley said. “Don’t try to move around too much. They’ve still got you on some pretty good drugs.”

“You were in the operating room for about six hours,” Mac added.

“Yeehaw,” Jack said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, which wasn’t much. “That’s a personal best.”

“Personal best?” Riley asked.

“Time in the OR. Before that it was four hours for-”

“You really don’t want to know,” Mac cut him off, his smile getting wider.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Riley replied. Jack realized she’d been holding his hand the whole time and he squeezed it a little causing her smile to twitch up to the left like it did when she was feeling sentimental.

Jack’s eyes felt raw and full of sand, and even though he’d just opened them all he wanted to do was sleep. Before he even thought about telling either of them that he wanted to rest, his eyes closed and he drifted off.

 

 

Mac sat at Jack’s bedside and watched. He listened to the buzz and whir and beep of the machines that were all hooked up to Jack’s body.

Riley went home to rest, and encouraged Mac to do the same, but he refused.

How many times had Mac woken up in a hospital bed? Too many. And how many times had he woken up to see Jack sitting at his bedside? How many times had Jack been there for him, in general? Almost every time. So this time, Mac would return the favor. Jack wasn’t out of the woods yet, and if something happened, Mac would be there.

“I’m your oldest friend,” Bozer started as he walked in, “so I’m going to be totally honest with you-”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me. Don’t tell me to go home,” Mac spat at him. “I’m tired of people telling me to go home. I’m not leaving.”

“What I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me was that you’re startin’ to smell,” Bozer continued. He slipped a backpack from his shoulder and dropped it into an empty chair in the private hospital room. “You been wearin’ the same clothes since Romania. So I brought you some fresh ones and a box of paperclips to keep you sane.”

Mac hung his head, feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry Boz,” he said. “I’m a little on edge.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Bozer replied, sarcasm thick. “I’ll stay with him while you change.”

“I’ll change later,” Mac said, returning his eyes to where Jack lay, vulnerable and still.

“I wasn’t joking,” Bozer said, “you are really startin’ to smell.”

Mac smiled at his friend, grabbed the backpack and retreated to the bathroom. The harsh light above the sink lit up his face in the mirror and Mac almost didn’t recognize himself. His eyes were circled with black, his blonde hair heavy with grease. There were bruises on the left side of his jaw where he’d taken that punch in Romania. He prodded the bruise and winced at the dull ache that spread up into his temple and his ear. All in all he looked like crap. Jack would have added something colloquial like: you look like ten miles of bad road, hoss.

When Mac returned, Bozer was perched on a chair at Jack’s side telling him a story. “So then Jill tells Riley that she popped your shoulder out that time when you broke into Matty’s place, and I thought Riley was gonna punch her lights out right there.”

Mac smiled and sat back down in his chair. It was still warm. “Thanks Boz,” he said.

“No problem Mac,” Bozer said. “How’s he doin’?”

“Good,” Mac replied. “Doctors say he’s still not out of the woods. Waiting to see if any infection sets in. Just waiting now.”

“Has he been awake?”

“Now and then. He comes and goes,” Mac replied. “He’s pretty doped up right now.”

“Well, I’ve got some more gossip to catch him up on before I go,” Bozer said, returning to his extravagant narrations of the goings on at the Phoenix.

While Bozer’s excited voice droned on and on, detailing the everyday drama, Mac leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was something comforting about putting on a fresh clean shirt, and he slouched down in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to find a more relaxing position. The beeping and hissing of machines and Bozer’s warm voice lulled him off to sleep and he dozed, his head falling to his shoulder.

 

Jack was finally released, which was probably best for everyone involved because he’d been on the verge of busting his way out anyway. There’s only so much sitting a man can do before he goes stir crazy.

Mac took him back to the apartment, and walked slowly up the stairs with him. Jack’s legs were a little shaky after two days laid up in a hospital bed.

His apartment was such a comforting sight that he sighed when the door opened. “Home sweet home,” he said. “I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed again.”

The door closed behind them and Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Just as soon as the door was shut he heard Mac take two quick steps to him and pull Jack into a hug, arms tight around Jack’s chest.

Jack closed his arms around Mac’s shoulders.

“S’alright man,” Jack said. “It wasn’t nothin’. And I’m gonna have a badass scar now too.”

Mac didn’t reply, his face buried in Jack’s shoulder.

Jack understood. Sometimes when you’re surrounded by people, by the team, you need to be strong, even if that means burying the things you feel down deep and not letting them out until you’re alone, or with someone you trust; Someone who understands.

Mac’s arms tightened, and Jack firmed up his grip too. He put a hand up to cradle Mac’s head, his fingers tangling in the blonde hair.

“C’mon Mac,” Jack said, trying not let the emotion catch in his voice. “Everybody’s alright.” He patted Mac’s back.

Mac pulled back just enough that he could look up at Jack. He was getting his face back together, the heavy emotions sliding back beneath the surface. Mac’s eyes were still a bit misty, but he smiled at Jack. He moved his hands to Jack’s shoulders, gripping him hard.

“We need to agree on something,” Mac said, his voice trying to be light and joking, but the seriousness crept in, his face close to Jack’s. “I’m the one who gets hurt, you’re the one who swoops in to save the day. Ok?” Mac was searching Jack’s eyes for agreement.

Jack kept his face serious. Mac was playing this off like a joke, but Jack knew better. “Alright man,” Jack agreed, nodding. “You got it.”

Mac nodded, the tense smile still lighting his features, but he was visibly relaxing.

As the more affectionate of the two, Jack broke the tension by grabbing Mac by the nape of the neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

Days in the hospital and Jack had missed that more than anything. Neither of them were PDA people, unless they were dosed with sodium pentothal, so they hadn’t done anything more than manly fist bumps during Jack’s recovery.

Their kisses were never soft, and this one had been a long time coming so it was more intense than normal. It wasn’t a moment before Jack parted his lips and was overwhelmed with the taste of Mac. He took a fistful of Mac’s hair, pressing their mouths harder together. 

Jack could feel the pent up frustration and emotion in the way Mac clawed at him, putting his hands around Jack’s neck and digging his fingers into the skin there.

Stale air was building up in Jack’s chest, but he didn’t want to stop and take a breath for anything. Until his body forced him to; Mac wrapped his arms around Jack and pulled their bodies against each other, lighting a fire in Jack’s side.

Jack put a hand to Mac’s chest and pushed him away hard as he stepped backward. “Woah woah, hold your horses,” Jack gasped at the pain sparking in his stomach. “God damn.”

“Oh Jesus,” Mac exclaimed, wiping his moist lips with the back of his hand as he came to Jack’s side. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Jack doubled over and Mac put a comforting hand on his back.

“You alright?” Mac asked.

“Whooowee,” Jack breathed out, and sucked in a breath that poked at the pain, but it was dull and not sharp anymore. Jack straightened up and sat back on one of the bar stools. “Let’s not do that again. I ain’t exactly fightin’ fit yet, if you know what I mean.”

Mac nodded and smiled. “Let me check that,” he pulled up Jack’s shirt and started to grab for the tape securing the bandage over his stitches.

“Come on now,” Jack said, fighting Mac off. “That’s enough, mama hen.”

Mac leveled a withering stare at Jack. “Don’t be a baby,” he said, “I just want to make sure you didn’t pop any stitches.”

“Did you just call Jack Dalton a baby? Cause men have been knocked out for a lot less than that,” Jack sassed. “This ain’t my first rodeo. I’d know if I popped a stitch, so just leave it the hell alone.”

“Alright, alright,” Mac smiled, “no need to be so cranky.”

“I’ve got all the need to be cranky,” Jack complained. “I got stabbed,” he lifted his shirt again, “right here.”

 

Mac was twisting and turning a paperclip with his Swiss Army Knife in the war room, waiting for everybody to arrive when he heard Jack’s voice.

“Stitches out baby!” Jack called out as he walked into the room.

“Nice,” Mac smiled up at him and returned to his paperclip.

“I’d like a little more enthusiasm Mac,” Jack prodded, taking the seat across from his partner and putting his feet up on the table. “Stitches out means back to active duty. Let’s go bust up some bad guys.”

“Dalton! Feet off my table!” Matty commanded as she walked into the room. “And you’re not busting up anybody.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jack said under his breath as he put his feet on the floor.

Riley and Bozer followed shortly after, closing the door behind them.

“We’ve got a shot at redemption here folks,” Matty began. “That militant group from Romania has surfaced again in Serbia.”

“They didn’t get far,” Mac observed, plying his paperclip.

Matty continued, ignoring the commentary. “They’re holed up in a large installation near the Romanian border, and they’re claiming they have a prisoner.”

“What, like a local or somethin’?” Jack asked.

Mac figured that was unlikely. They wouldn’t be advertising a local prisoner unless they were holding a ton of hostages. Claiming one prisoner meant it was someone important and that they wanted something for them.

“It would have to be someone important if they’re advertising they have them,” Mac voiced his concerns out loud.

“Yeah, like who?” Jack asked.

“They’re claiming they have Greta Murphy,” Matty said seriously.

Mac’s eyes shot up to the briefing screen where Greta’s face was pictured and then over to Jack, who jumped out of his chair in a second.

Jack didn’t say anything. It felt like Sarah all over again.

“Greta’s a scientist, what does she have to do with Romanian militia in Serbia?” Mac asked to break the silence.

“According to her colleagues, she was working on a biological that could be easily weaponized,” Matty replied. “Honestly at this point they haven’t even provided proof that they have her. But no one has been able to locate her, or confirm her whereabouts for the past 12 days.”

“A’right, let’s bounce,” Jack said, deadly serious.

“You’re not going anywhere Dalton,” Matty replied. “Look, I get you’ve got personal ties here, but you’re not ready to head back into the field yet.”

“A very nice doctor upstairs just told me otherwise,” Jack objected. “Clean bill of health, back to active duty.”

“Active duty means surveillance missions and low stress ops,” Matty replied. “Not running, guns a’blazing, into Serbia. Riley and Mac will head to the installation with a tac team.”

“This is crap!” Jack said, pointing a finger at Matty. “These guys are serious business Matty and I intend to be there backing Mac and Riley up.”

“You’re right Jack,” Matty said, switching to his first name and striding toward him, “this is serious business. Which is why I can’t have you in there messing things up.”

“Messing things up?” Jack asked the room, turning to look at everyone, who avoided his eyes. “Since when-”

Matty stopped his sentence dead with a sharp jab to his side.

A whimper escaped Jack and he bit a knuckle for a minute before he was able to reply. “That wasn’t nice Matty,” Jack growled.

“Yeah, and do you think those militants are going to play nice?” Matty let the question hang in the air and stared Jack down. Then she finally turned to Riley and Mac: “Wheels up in twenty,” she said before returning her attention to the briefing monitor.

Greta’s plump face loomed over them all. The picture they had on file was a smiling happy photo that looked candid, from a family member maybe? Bright blue eyes, black hair and pale skin was magnified ten times life size.

Mac dropped his paperclip on the table, and headed for the door shooting Jack an apologetic look accompanied by a shrug. Matty was the boss. Wasn’t much they could do if she ordered Jack to stick around the Phoenix.

 

One hour into their flight, Riley shook Mac’s shoulder. He’d been sleeping on the couch on the small Phoenix private jet.

“Whussup?” Mac asked, rolling up to sitting, startled from sleep. “Fourteen hundred and seven.”

“What?” Riley asked.

Mac shook the odd dream from his head. “Nothing,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Riley motioned back toward the front of the small plane. “Bathroom door is locked,” she said.

With just the two of them on the plane, no one could be in there. Loose lock must have vibrated closed. He’d have to slip it.

“Let me just grab my credit card,” he said, fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

“No need for that hoss,” Jack said as he unlocked the door and emerged from the tiny bathroom.

“Jack, what the hell are you doing here?” Riley asked.

Mac just shook his head, smiled and returned his wallet to his pocket.

“Can I get some sleep now?” Mac asked, sliding back down to recline on the couch.

“Did you really just spend an hour waiting in there?” Riley asked, pointing toward the tiny bathroom.

“Had to wait until we were far enough out that we couldn’t turn back,” Jack admitted, sitting down in a chair and stretching out his legs.

“I can’t believe you just sat in an airplane bathroom for an hour so you can get shot at later,” Riley said.

“Yes you can,” Jack and Mac said at the same time.

 

Jack was slowly creeping down a hallway alongside Mac, his gun held in front of him.

“I’m just sayin’,” Jack continued, “there is no way I would be a gorilla. If I were an animal I would be somethin’ totally bad ass, like a big ole grizzly bear.”

Mac didn’t reply, eyes peeled for anything that might indicate where they were headed in the maze of a building.

“Everyone voted, Jack,” Riley said over comms. “Gorilla was unanimous.”

“It just ain’t right,” Jack replied.

“Hey Riley,” Mac said, ignoring the conversation, “you did say take a right back there?”

“I did,” Riley replied.

“Because we’re coming up on a dead end.”

Jack glanced ahead, Mac wasn’t wrong. Nothing but nothing at the end of the hall; No doors, no windows, no nothing.

“Did I forget to mention that you’re looking for a door into a hidden passageway?” She asked.

“No,” Mac replied, “you left that part out.”

They reached the end of the hall.

“Any idea exactly where this door is or how to open it?”

“Yeah Ri,” Jack replied, getting serious now. “We’re sittin’ ducks down here. Anybody comes ‘round that corner and they’ll be shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

“Should be somewhere on your left,” Riley replied. “According to the plans there should be a keypad of some kind.”

Jack kept his eyes focused on the turn at the end of the hallway. He heard a metallic smacking sound from behind him.

“Alright Riley,” Mac said, “I’ve got the panel open. Do you have the code?”

“I reprogrammed it to 0522,” she said.

Jack kept his gun lowered, but ready, while he listened to electronic beeps as Mac typed in the code. More metallic noises, grinding this time. Jack took a quick look back to see that a large piece of wall had slid out of the way to reveal a doorway. The doorway was set back into the wall about 3 feet and would provide decent cover, so Jack squeezed into the doorway next to Mac.

“This door’s locked,” Mac said, after rattling the handle.

“I can’t help you with that one,” Riley replied. “None of the door locks are controlled electronically.”

“We’ll just do this the old fashioned way then,” Mac said as he crouched next to the lock.

Just at that moment, several men with guns rounded the corner at the end of the hallway and started firing toward them.

Jack fired back, took cover, fired, took cover, repeat, trying not to waste too much of his ammo.

“Now would be a great time to get us through that door Mac!” Jack yelled over the gunfire, letting off another burst of his own.

“Working on it,” Mac replied, attacking the lock.

Mac all but pulled Jack through the door before slamming and relocking it behind them.

Watching their six, Jack kept eyes on the door as he followed Mac down the hallway backward. It was disturbingly quiet. Several corridors branched off from the one they were currently in.

“Great,” Mac said from ahead, “more hallways.”

“I got you,” Riley said over comms. “Just keep going straight. The room at the end is the one you want.”

They continued. Jack heard a startled sound burst from Mac and turned to see Mac dodging a knife. It was the same guy that had left Jack to die in Romania.

Jack rushed toward Mac. “Hey asshole!” He yelled to distract the guy, and turn him away from Mac before Jack put a bullet in him.

“Thanks,” Mac breathed out in relief, kicking the knife away.

“That one was all for me,” Jack replied, starring down at the body. “Let’s get on with this.”

“Tac team has all of the militants secured,” Matty’s voice came through, “except anybody that’s in the room with Dr. Murphy. No camera’s in there, so we can’t get a look. The plane’s ready to roll. Let’s get this done.”

“You got it boss lady,” Jack replied. Knowing that no one was behind them he kept Mac at his back and proceeded forward, gun held up and ready.

“Gorillas are plenty badass,” Mac continued their conversation as they walked down the empty corridor.

“He’s right Jack,” Riley admitted. “At least you didn’t get otter.”

“Come on Riley,” Jack said, sweeping the hallway with his gun, “otters are pretty darn cute. What’s wrong with bein’ an otter?”

“It’s not badass like a gorilla, that’s what,” Riley said.

“Come on now, otters can be vicious little creatures,” Jack said, “they look all cute but they got them sharp little teeth.”

“Thanks Jack,” Riley said. “Not entirely sure if it was a compliment, but thanks.”

No one was standing guard outside the room, but as soon as Mac started to pick the lock, the door burst open and two gun wielding bad guys jumped out. Quick instincts, and the accuracy of a sniper, and Jack had downed them in no time.

Behind the door was a small dark room, and Greta Murphy, no other guards left. Tied to a chair and looking angry as a house cat left out in the rain, she was sporting a nasty black eye.

“Jack?” She asked, squinting through the light, and her black eye. “And Mac, of course.” Jack loved that deep voice and Irish accent of hers. It was like what drinking Guinness would sound like.

“To the rescue,” Jack smiled, keeping an eye on the open door while Mac knelt down and began to cut the doctor free.

“Seems like I’ve needed plenty of rescuing since I met you lot,” she said, shaking her hands around to get blood flow going again now that they were loose.

Mac helped Greta walk, holding her around the waist, while Jack kept things covered ahead just in case.

The plane was waiting and they were back in the air in no time.

 

Mac followed Jack up the stairs to his place. After dropping Greta back in Ireland they’d headed straight home. Long flight, close quarters with Riley, and no bed. They were both exhausted.

Jack immediately jumped in the shower, and Mac fell unceremoniously across the bed where he instantly fell asleep.

“No, no, no,” Jack’s voice woke him up.

Mac looked up to find Jack standing over him in a towel, still wet from the shower.

“This is why I told you to go back to your place,” Jack continued. “Whenever we’ve had a long flight back you’re always so tired that you take up the whole bed. And you snore.”

“I do not snore,” Mac grumbled, rolling over to one side of the bed.

“You do too snore,” Jack said. “And you’re gettin’ my bed nasty. All sweaty and covered in dirt.”

“I’m not even under the covers!” Mac defended himself. “I’m so sorry that I got some sweat on top of your duvet.” He was starting to get grumpy now.

“If you’re gonna stay, go and have a damn shower then,” Jack motioned to the bathroom. “I even warmed it up for you.”

“That’s not how showers work,” Mac replied as he rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom.

Jack hadn’t been wrong. A shower so hot that his skin turned red and started to hurt was just what the doctor ordered. All of the tension in his muscles eased, and the headache he hadn’t noticed creeping up disappeared. When he noticed that his eyes were starting to close involuntarily, he shut the water off, dried quickly and retreated to the bedroom.

Jack had fallen asleep on the bed, still with the towel wrapped around his waist. Mac didn’t feel like digging in his bag to find anything to sleep in and instead curled up next to Jack, naked.

The pink line on Jack’s stomach where he’d been stabbed, was still healing and stuck out to Mac. Jack had a ton of scars, but most of them were dull and white now, old scars, healed wounds. This one was still fresh. Mac ran a finger along the line that would soon become another scar, another war wound.

Jack snorted as he woke up, but didn’t open his eyes. “Tickles,” he complained half-heartedly.

“Sorry,” Mac replied, pulling his hand back.

“Naw, s’ok, at least it don’t hurt no more.”

Mac could barely keep his eyes open and they both drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry for the Firefly reference. I really couldn't resist.


End file.
